


To die on your feet or live on your knees

by YTDN



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Internal Monologue, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YTDN/pseuds/YTDN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In that one moment, when the National Guard gives the barricade a chance to surrender, Enjolras considers. Based off Aaron Tveit's superb acting in the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To die on your feet or live on your knees

**Author's Note:**

> I've only ever seen the movie and read up about the book, so this is basically movie-verse. This was inspired by that one look that Enjolras gives after Gavroche dies and the National Guardsman (played excellently by Hadley Fraser) tells them to surrender. These are his thoughts at that moment, which got a bit long.

_“You at the barricades listen to this! The people of Paris sleep in their beds. You have no chance, no chance at all. Why throw your lives away?”_

Enjolras knew that the soldier was right. The people had not risen, and without them, their little barricade could not withstand the might of the National Guard. They may hold them for a time, but certainly they would die. As Eponine had, as little Gavroche had, as countless others had. By fighting they would join them in death.

 It had not meant to end like this. He had hoped beyond hope that they would succeed. No, not just hoped, _believed_. Believed that the people would join them, that the barricades would arise around the city; that the National Guard would throw down their weapons and join their crusade; that the King would be thrown down, the old order demolished and all men would become free. He had believed with all his heart, believed so much that he had led his friends in this revolution, had led them to this barricade, the barricade that they would now die on.

 He had led his friends to their deaths.

  _“Why throw your lives away?”_ Why indeed. What would their deaths achieve now? The people did not care. The ones who had joined them abandoned them once the going got tough. They would look down on them in pity, at the foolish boys playing at revolution and dying far, far too young. And they were young. There were some older ones, like the gentleman who had killed Inspector Javert, but most of them were not yet thirty, or even twenty-five. The youngest of them had died mere minutes ago.

 And the thought of death still frightened him, no matter how prepared he was. Being pierced by a bullet or a bayonet, feeling the agony of his bones shattering and organs rupturing, seeing his blood pour out of his body and feel the blackness of death overcome him, never to experience anything again. A deep, primal fear that all his hope and belief could not quench.  And the thought of having to watch his friends, the men who had been more of a family to him than his real family, die in front of him was the worst thought of all.

 Could he do that? Could he lead his friends into a futile bloodbath, condemn them to screaming deaths for a world that did not care? Or could he surrender, stop the bloodshed now, and save their lives? Do what he had never done, never even considered before, and put his ideals aside?

 Almost unconsciously, he looked to his right where Marius kneeled on the barricade, his rifle in hand.  A look of steely determination met Enjolras’ eyes.

 And Enjolras thought, _NO_.

 Marius’ look told him all he needed to know. Marius, the boy who had only a day ago thought to abandon his friends and ideals for a girl, now stood with no doubt in his heart, ready to fight and die on the barricade. And Enjolras knew if he turned to look behind all his friends would have the same look. Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Joly and Bousset, Jehan, Feuilly, Bahorel, and so many others, some whom he did not even know the names of. They had all chosen to be here, and none had fled, even when he had given them a chance. And he knew even if he ordered them to leave, even if he pointed a gun to their heads and told them to run they would not flee. All of them believed in the cause, in the republic, and dreamed of the day that all men would be free. What right did he have to deny them their ideals? He for one would not give up his, even in the face of death, and it would be a tremendous arrogance to believe that his friend’s ideals were any less strong than his. Wasn’t it those dreams that had brought them together in friendship, and now brought them here? Would it not be a betrayal of all those years of friendship, of planning and struggling, to abandon them now? For abandoning them would it be. Surrendering to the mercy of the state would be an utter betrayal of everything they had fought for, and what many had already _died_ for. The body of brave little Gavroche lay only a few feet behind him, reminding him of that. How could he betray the bravery of someone so young yet so great by giving up now?

 And really, was dying so bad, compared to the alternative? Rotting in prison, until illness or old age takes them? Maybe if they were lucky they would be released one day, but only as old, broken men. Yes, Enjolras could not condemn his friends to death, and so could not surrender. For surrender would be death, as a man is not alive unless he is free in his beliefs and actions. They had fought so that men would never again be in chains, and to condemn them to that… there was no worse hell. They may die, but it would be a death chosen out of their own wills. Even as he choked on his own blood, that breath would be a choice he made.

 A tiny bit of arrogance also rose in him. Enjolras was never the one to seek glory, had only ever aspired to live out his ideals, whether they brought him fame or not, but even he felt surrender was below him. It was the action of the craven, the coward who could not stand for anything greater than himself. No-one remembered them, and most sympathy the people could muster towards them was pity. But the one who died on their feet, the ones who stood for their ideals until the bitter end- they were remembered. They were martyred, they were celebrated. And they inspired the next generation to finish what they could not.

  _“Why throw your lives away?”_ Why not? Why should they be so selfish with their lives, that they would not throw them away with nary a thought? They would throw them into the huddled masses yearning for freedom, to be reached for in their misery. They would throw them to the revolutionaries yet to arise, to use as a flag to hold before them. They would throw them to the republic, to liberty, to the equality and brotherhood of men.

 They would fight with all their strength, until their bullets ran out and their swords shattered in their hands. They would make their mark with every body of the National Guard. They would make them pay ten for every one of their own. They would put on a display that would be seared into the minds of the people of Paris, the people who had abandoned them. And when they could fight no longer, they would die proudly on their feet and their bodies would lie as a testament to the truth that all men are free, and can be if they will fight for it, as the people will. Not this day. But in days to come, they will.

 For the dark of ages past, and the world yet to dawn, they will throw their lives into the future.

 Enjolras turned back to the National Guard.

_“Let us die facing out foes. Make them bleed while they can.”_

_“Make them pay through the nose.”_

_“Make them pay for every man.”_

_“Let others rise to take our place until the Earth is Free!”_


End file.
